


Damascus Rose

by HermaiaMoira



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Crossover, Emotional Manipulation, Heavy Angst, M/M, Torture, Video & Computer Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-06 22:34:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5433284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermaiaMoira/pseuds/HermaiaMoira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Hannibal retelling of Amnesia: The Dark Descent. A man wakes in a castle alone and injured, with only one memory: that his name is Will. On the floor is painted in blood a mission to kill someone, and throughout the castle otherworldly horrors await him. He must piece together the past events of his life in order to escape the nightmare in which he has found himself. As his memories begin to recover, he realizes that there was a man who had been his friend, who may be with him in this hellish reality, and therefore in great danger. He must find Dr. Lecter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Windegobunny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windegobunny/gifts).



> Will Graham--Daniel  
> Hannibal Lecter--Alexander  
> Abigail Hobbs--Hazel

It felt like swimming too deep in dark water, not knowing which way is up and which plunged even deeper. He felt something press his side but his slipping consciousness couldn’t verify if he was lying down or leaning or falling.

When his senses began to return he could feel the physical plane around him straighten, and the weight of gravity pulling from a distinct direction.

For a moment that was all that existed. Discomfort and pain. Confusion is a luxury afforded to the sentient.

He heard a muffled sound that he slowly became aware of; a steady crunching. The first association that he experienced with anything was this. He saw small feet trudging through fresh-fallen snow, shoes crunch-crunching through the talcum.

The image was broken by a much louder, more present crack, followed by a thunderous crash. It shocked and grounded him enough to open his eyes.

No snow. A cold marble floor that he felt heavily pressed against. He stared directly in front of him, not moving from the position on his side. His eyes blinked slowly, placid as a house-cat before it occurred to him that he didn’t know how he’d gotten there.

He carefully sat up. More pain, so omnipresent that it was impossible to determine the precise source. He looked up and found the cause of the sound he’d heard. A balcony hung above the massive imperial room, and the banister and a supporting beam had fractured, spilling wood and debris below.

 _I fell,_ he thought, but he didn’t remember falling. He tried to retrieve the moments before his collapse, but they were absent. As he rose to his feet, his mind instinctively moved backward in time, desperately trying to find a foothold and failing.

Finally, confusion. He closed his eyes and focused, mentally grasping at ephemeral thoughts as though waking from an important dream and watching it dissipate from memory. Then came the question that frightened and confused him most of all.

_Who am I?_

The stretching fingers of his thought snatched something seemingly from mid-air. His voice was hoarse and dry in his throat, and tasted cloyingly sweet, almost floral.

“My name is… my name is…”

The pounding in his head reached a crescendo, and then subsided.

“I am Will,” he stated, and it was the only thing he knew, so he treasured the knowledge like a lifeboat in a storm.

He started to stagger forward, legs and shoulders heavy and sore. Something burned and throbbed on his forehead, so he lifted a hand to touch. It felt sticky and rough. He looked at his two fingers and realized that they appeared to be dipped in blood. He turned to look at where he once lie.  Scrawled on the floor beneath him, were bloody words painted by shaky fingers.

KILL H

* * *

Will nearly fell over from the rush to his head. He looked around the vast room at the balcony and the pillars, and peered into the dark corners where someone may be lurking. It seemed more likely now that he had been the victim of violence. Why else would he leave himself that frantic message painted in his own blood?

It became clear to him that he had to get out. In front of him was a door, as well as one to the east and west. On either side of the balcony, two sweeping stairs led up to a hall. Behind him on the wall the grand windows were too high to reach, although he could see the night sky outside. He headed to the door beneath the balcony, and found it locked. He then chose the staircase opposite the side where the banister had collapsed.

The hallway at the top drove deeper into the building and was exceptionally dark. Candelabra adorned the walls, but he had no light for them. He felt along the wall until his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

He came across an open door to a bedroom. The moonlight filtered through the windows, providing a bit more sight. To his relief, a lantern and a tinder box waited on an end-table beside his bed. He lit the lantern and scanned the room. In the corner he found a desk and he began to open the drawers and search inside.

From the center drawer he pulled a folded letter. The sealing wax was broken and the back of the paper was addressed from “The Right Honble. Doctor Lecter” and the addressed was Mister Will Graham. That name was his, and he felt the sense of security that came from ownership.

The letter within had been penned with impeccable handwriting. Hardly a blot stained the paper. The heading was marked “June 20th, 1839, Castle Brennenburg, Alstadt" and the following read:

I endeavor to initiate correspondence with one Mister Graham on behalf of myself and for the added benefit of his person. It has come to my attention through various sources that you are burdened with a strange malady that I have encountered in my research. I have no doubt that your suffering has been grievous, and for that you have my deepest sympathy. It may grant you some reprieve to learn that I myself may have discovered a treatment for such a phenomenon. You would do me a great service by joining me at Castle Brennenburg and allowing me to study your affliction. In addition, the scholarships of science and philosophy will profit substantially from your contributions. Any travel expenses will be paid for, of course, and a most hospitable living arrangement will be provided for you in my guest quarters. Please respond and all provisions will be made.

Respectfully,

Lecter

 

 _I am surely in Castle Brennenburg now,_ Will thought, _but where is the doctor who sought to help me?_

He wondered what malady Lecter had referred to. That of the mind, perhaps, which caused his confused state today?

_I must find him. He will have answers for me, and if possible, a remedy._

Will shoved the letter into his jacket pocket and rifled further through the desk, attempting to attach significance to the objects within. Finally, he pulled out a faded slip of draught paper. On it was etched a simple school house.

In his mind he could see a group of children gathered in front of the building. As he focused on the image, he could feel pressure rising in the back of his throat. Suddenly he saw a boyish hand reaching from his own body, leaning to grab a rock in the grass. Then he saw a thick leather strap stretching between two large hands.

Will stepped back and let the draught fall from his fingers. Something in his mind was pushing against those flickering images, fighting them off. Memories? They must be, but they felt so foreign in his own mind.

He moved to the window and unlatched it. Leaning out, he could see that he was, in fact, in a castle. Beneath the window was a stone ledge, but the façade below it was smooth, and the drop certainly terminal. The cool night air soothed his warm face and the cut on his forehead. He left the window open and let the air fill his lungs.

His ear twitched and his face turned slightly to the side.

Whatever the sound was, it was gone now. In fact, he wasn’t convinced it had existed at all.

He stepped back from the window, picked up his lantern, and returned to the hallway. The light he carried seemed to plunge through the darkness like an underwater lamp. It didn’t diffuse, but only cast a dagger of light before him.

As he walked, he tried to establish bearings. If the room he’d woke in was one face of the building, and the room he’d just left was another, then turning right would bring him deeper into the castle. He held the lantern up and out, letting the bolt of light pierce as far into the distance as possible.

His mind wandered back to the hands in his vision. One had certainly belonged to a young boy, and he looked down on it as though it were his own. The hands on the strap were a man’s, rough and fringed with hairs. He could hear the leather _schthick_ through the rough palms.

“What have you…”

Will’s head snapped to the side at what seemed like a light, feminine whisper in his ear. It was so faint, it could not possibly have been right there beside him. He scanned his lantern to the right along the other wall. The hallway was quite wide, but clearly no one was there.

He came to a stand-still, his face scowling momentarily before turning the lantern back toward where he had come. He held it high and as far forward as his arm could reach. He squinted, barely making out the edges of the doorway that led to the balcony.

A shuffling, he was sure of it. His ears moved again. He could pick up a strained, wet breathing sound. It made his skin feel tight over his flesh.

Through the gloom, the profile of a massive frame moved. It slowly stepped into the spotlight of Will’s lantern. The young man froze.

It was human, or perhaps not. It seemed too large, and yet it had the form of a man. Sensing the light on him, the monstrosity turned to face Will.

Will’s mouth stretched open as every electrifying shock of terror jolted through his body. The thing’s face… it was sawn open at the mouth so that it hung in a gape. Its chin draped loose against its collar revealing a thick lolling tongue and its eyeballs bulged bare of eyelids from gory red sockets.

Those repulsive eyes locked onto him and Will retreated a few steps backward. Every movement the beast made seemed as if in slow-motion. Its shoulders drooped, its head jutted forward, and it lunged toward him.

Will’s head shook, almost as if his mind was stubbornly rejecting what his eyes perceived. He turned and ran, lantern jostling at his side, scattering its light about the hall.

When it ran, its footfalls were thunderous. Will could tell that it was growing closer at a rate faster than he was capable of running.

At the end of the hall, he clumsily wrestled with the knob of a studded door. It was locked. In a fit of panic, he rammed against it in vain. Scraping the few moments he had left, he bolted in the direction of the oncoming creature. He could feel the floorboards vibrating beneath his feet as he found the first room door and dashed inside.

He forced his increasingly numb hands to slam the door behind him. He stumbled back and then whirled as he looked around the room. A sturdy writing desk lined the wall to one side. Will grunted as he braced his shoulders and shoved it over the floor to bar the doorway.

The alarming banging against the door began before Will could even take his hands away from the desk. By the time he had it in place, the hinges of the door were beginning to weaken and pop off. Even a heavy desk would prove no barrier for this thing.

In desperation, he ran to the windows, unlatched them, and threw them open. He observed the ledge directly beneath the line of windows. Along the wall, he spied the window to his own bedroom which he had left open. He shot one last glance at the door, which was splintering and on the verge of collapsing entirely.

With a galvanizing breath, he stepped out the window and onto the ledge. The high altitude wind whipped against his jacket and the legs of his trousers. He clung to the castle façade as he shimmied to the side, distinctly aware of the sheer plunge just at his back, only one false step away.

He had barely moved from the window when he heard a great crack and the sound of heavy furniture being tossed aside as easily as empty crates.

Will pressed his forehead against the smooth stone. He clamped his mouth shut and breathed in an out through his nose. It was all he could do to convince himself to keep going. He gritted his teeth and tried to restrain his shaking as he slid in front of the open window and climbed inside. Only a few doors down, a nightmare entity destroyed the room in its search for him. What drove its violent rage, Will did not know, only that this thing could snap his bones like twigs.

In his fright, Will had abandoned his lantern while pushing the desk. He crept out the bedroom door and slinked back down the hallway from where he came, the rampage of the beast still continuing behind him. As soon as he reached the balcony, he broke into a run and nearly slipped down the stairs as he made his way to the side doorway below. He whispered a “thank you” when the door opened for him.

He mourned the loss of his lantern after he closed the door behind him and an intensely dark hallway stretched beyond. He ventured forth into it, dragging his trembling finger tips along the wainscoting.

There were no doors lining the hall. As he walked further and further, long after he had caught his breath, he wondered at the strangeness. The hallway was incredibly long but with not a single side exit. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness by the time he spotted the glow of one candelabrum that had been lit along the wall. It illuminated titanic double doors.

Will released a quaking, hiccupping gasp. He ran toward the doors as quickly as his rubbery legs could move.

As he approached, a draft rose up and the candles extinguished. He steadied his breath once more and reached out to feel the wood of the doors beneath his fingers. Instead, they were greeted with cold stone. Will moved his face closer and verified what he felt. There were no doors, only a solid wall.

“What…?” he breathed, running his hands over the wall frantically. Was it an illusion?

He turned to look back down the long hallway and jumped in astonishment when he saw the very door he had entered in the first place was only an arm’s length behind him, as though he hadn’t stepped an inch.

He turned back to the wall and found it had receded once more into darkness.

Will’s legs finally gave out beneath him and he crumpled into a seat against the door. It was then that this thought passed through his mind for the first time:

_I am dead. I have done something heinous in my past life, and I am in hell._

“What have you done?” The whisper in his ear now came from an older, masculine source. It was still very quiet, but this time its existence was a certainty. He shot his head to the side, greeted by nothing.

The warm, muttering tone compelled Will to answer.

“I don’t know,” he groaned, supporting his aching head in his hands. “I can’t remember.”


	2. Chapter 2

He had to go on. There was nothing else left. Sitting in that mind-altering hallway was draining away his precious sanity, or what little he could claim he still had. As he embarked across the large room toward the opposite door, he heard a faint scratching sound. He realized that it was his own teeth grinding. His vision at the corners of his eyes was blurry and distorted like the view through a fish bowl.

Past the second door, Will entered an atrium. The ceiling was open to the night sky and in the center was a rococo fountain surrounded by lush red flowers.

“Damascus rose,” Will whispered when the name came to him suddenly, as automatic as remembering how to tie one’s shoes.

The scent was intoxicating, even in the coolness of the exposed atrium. It brought the taste in his mouth to an even sharper sense. He progressed onward, to the door across the way. It seemed a shame to leave this peaceful place, but staying still for any amount of time made his skin crawl and his teeth grind harder.

The next room over was a library, lined with fully-stocked bookshelves. Blessedly, on the table in the center was a lantern, and he lit it with the tinderbox he still had in his pocket. The lantern light did not do enough in this room, with all of its rows of high shelves. He cast it around until he noticed a painting on the wall.

It was a sitting portrait of a refined man. His features were architectural and distinctly regal. Something about his face filled Will with an amalgamation of confidence, admiration, and jittery anticipation.

“Dr. Lecter,” he realized.

He wished him there at that moment. The same instinct that told him his name also told him that he could find no more security than in his presence.

Brennenburg was Lecter’s home. Where was the man himself? Anxiety filled him when he wondered if harm had come to the doctor, worse than what he had experienced.

“What is this madness here?” he thought aloud. His gaze at the face before him caused a sudden connection in his brain, and he found himself looking at the doctor as if in the flesh, standing before him.

“What brings you to Castle Brennenburg?” Dr. Lecter asked him in a voice that warmed him, “Aside from answering my invitation and granting me the unique privilege of your company.”

Will felt his breath swell his lungs at the words, as the manifestation of the accessed memory solidified before him.

”I am being followed,” he stated, “By… a shadow. It has haunted me for most of my life.”

“From childhood?”

“Yes.”

“And what has caused you to seek help, finally?”

“It has worsened in recent years,” he answered.

“You’ve reached a tipping point?”

Will inhaled.

“It evolved; beyond a shadow, into something more temporal.”

“Describe it.”

“I once believed that it was only in my mind,” Will explained. “Then, strange occurrences…”

“It affected your environment in a way that you could not deny.”

“People in my life, acquaintances merely, fell into tragic circumstances.”

Lecter cocked his head and moved to Will’s side of the table. His narrow eyes glistened with an inner enthusiasm that unnerved the young man.

“Violent ends?”

The muscles in Will’s neck tightened.

“Yes.”

Lecter nodded. His eyes were running over Will before, sizing him up, but now they locked onto his face as if he needed no more deliberation. Will had his full attention.

“You are certain that it is not coincidence.”

“I am certain,” Will answered, “Because there are too many similarities.”

“I must ask you something, Will,” Lecter said, and his casual tone and familiar usage of his guest’s Christian name shook him. Lecter moved back to the table and pushed a pen into a spot parallel to the book on its surface. Will felt a little relieved to have those peering eyes turned elsewhere.

“I request that you be completely honest with me.”

Will’s fists clenched and unclenched as he promised, “I shall do my best.”

“These victims of circumstance,” Lecter continued, his voice so nonchalant that the proceeding insight of his question took Will by surprise. “Had they… infringed upon you, or someone near you, in any way?”

Will’s lips parted.

“Yes,” he whispered, “Every last one.”

Lecter’s eyes were on him again, intense and practically brimming over with eagerness. His mouth drew into an almost imperceptible smile, but those eyes were strangely triumphant, as though Will was the proverbial “pearl of great price” for which he had scoured the world over.

Even after Will had reached the limit of what he could remember at that point, the expression on Lecter’s face stayed with him. The man knew something. His despair was alleviated by these new discoveries. They drove him in a direction. Which direction did not matter, only that he was grounded in something, given a rope to grasp.

He stared at the wall for a moment. In his mind, he simply knew to reach out for it, to give the candelabrum there a stiff yank. Even so, when he did, he was surprised to see one of the bookshelves slide in one direction and reveal an open passage.

His pulse quickened at the entrance to the short, dark hall. He held the lantern aloft and very slowly and quietly stepped through. On the other side he found a small office tucked away. Hastening his step, he lit every wick he could find in the room. He sat his lantern down on a noble desk amidst the bookshelves. Only a cursory glance revealed that the texts here were more specialized than those he found in the main library.

On the desk lie Immanuel Kant’s _The Critique of Pure Reason_ , and an odd book marked “ _Mesmerismus oder System der Wechsel-beziehungen. Theorie und Andwendungen des tierischen Magnetismus_.” He flipped through the German text, only understanding a phrase here and there. “Magnetic virtue may be gathered, concentrated, and transported.” In the margins next to that passage was Lecter’s own note: _Fluid. Vitae._

Will moved through the desk drawers, finding a meticulously organized filing system quite unlike the stash of papers and items that his own desk contained. In the center drawer, he found a key that he added to his pocket, as well as a bound journal embossed with “Dr. Lecter, Baron of Brennenburg.” Inside the journal: pages of the same flowing handwriting.

He flipped through until he spotted his own name.

_Mr. Graham agrees to join me and aid in my research. If his claims are to be believed, he is one of the enigmatic egregorists (as I have taken to calling them) that I have only been given the opportunity to read about. I remain cautiously optimistic, for I have been disappointed many times before._

In early passages, Lecter referred to him by the traditional “Mr. Graham,” but eventually, “Will.” As he progressed, the handwriting became scratchier, frantic, even. On every page, his own name.

_Will continues to vex, reticent to accept his own potential or put his trust in me. It was only this morning that he even consented to tell me the origination of his egregores, stemming from an altercation with his father in his youth. I know I must tread carefully to avoid pressing him into retreat, but I am so eager, so hungry to learn the complexities of his mind._

Again, Will discovered an ephemeral memory. He and Dr. Lecter walked together through the library toward the hidden passage.

“You have encountered a case like mine before?” Will asked.

“Not personally, no,” Lecter responded. “I have only come across it in obscure texts.”

Lecter shot Will a self-deprecating smile and added, “The sort that are not precisely canonical to scientific academia.”

“What do these texts say of it?”

Lecter pulled the candelabrum on the wall, and the two advanced through the passageway.

“It is an inherent gift that very few have possessed, even fewer have mastered.”

“Gift?” Will scoffed, “Curse, I should say.”

Lecter ignored the correction.

“It requires a trigger to become active. In a case such as yours, it appears to be caused by a source of intense guilt and shame; an occurrence of real or perceived wrongdoing with which the gifted mind cannot come to terms.”

Will stopped in his tracks. Noticing, Lecter stopped as well and turned to face him.

His expression was contrastively affectionate when he said, “Tell me, Will… what have you done?”

Will felt knocked back by the memory. He shuddered and shoved the journal into an interior pocket.

“What have you done?” the young female voice repeated Lecter’s words in his ear. An exclamation escaped his throat and he turned every which way for only a moment before reminding himself that he was very alone.

Will headed back into the guest lobby with the key now in his possession. Just as he predicted, it opened the door beneath the balcony and he advanced into a larger, main lobby. He spotted a door to his left and walked toward it. When he opened it, he found another entrance to the library. At first he wondered how he could have missed the door from the library’s interior. Then it dawned on him that this separate entrance came from an implausible position. He strained his mind to consider the layout and how this arrangement could possibly exist in the space provided.

“Impossible,” he concluded, baffled by the thought. His head was pounding and his hands were shaking. The room seemed to warp and recede in his eyes and he felt intensely dizzy. He was forced to shut the door and turn away, focusing on the solid walls and pillars of the lobby.

Warily, he continued toward another door, beneath another balcony. This opened for him, revealing a wide set of descending stairs. Instead of delicate candelabra, these walls were adorned with unlit torches. He lit them sparingly, trying to conserve the contents of his sole tinderbox.

The stairwell opened up to a cellar filled with casks and pantry shelves. The bouquet of fruit, cheeses, oak, herbs, and good steel wine permeated his surroundings. As soon as a couple of torches were lit in the room, it was really quite inviting and pleasant. Garlands of onions and garlic hung from the beams.

Will immediately realized how famished he was. He rushed to a shelf and lifted the perforated lid from a glazed crock, discovering a loaf of bread. Pushing it into his mouth, he closed his eyes and sighed. For an instant he felt grateful for his relative luck. Upon further inspection, he spied a canister of lantern oil sitting on the top shelf. He reached for it, but it was a bit too high, so he stepped on the lowest shelf and snatched it up. When he stepped down, the shelves shook and a sack of potatoes at the edge spilled open, its contents rolling across the stone floor, some thumping into an open door to another hallway.

Will chewed as he watched them come to a stop. Then his senses rang like a tuning fork. Something… something…

A beat later, a long, otherworldly howl rang out from down the hallway. He heard a slap-slapping of feet and mournful gargling moans advancing down the corridor at terrifying speed. Will bolted toward the other side of the room just in time to duck behind a stack of crates. He crouched there as he listened to whatever had entered as it darted around the room with preternatural quickness. The sound it made brought Will to shivers: pitiful sobbing and wailing from frayed vocal cords.

He couldn’t help himself. Will peeked around the corner of the crates to catch a glimpse of the thing.

It was a man, stark naked, with skin leathery and red and cracking open, oozing fluid over the dry surface of its flesh. The smell reached Will’s nose and he nearly retched. It was the scent of roasted meat, vulgar in its implications. When it whizzed around, eyes scanning the room for the source of the disturbance, Will could see that its eyeballs were milky and soft, like a baked fish. He turned away, keeping out of sight and trying to refrain from coughing up what little he’d eaten.

He could hear the bare feet slapping toward him, slower now. In a matter of seconds, it would be upon him. He looked beyond the crates and noticed that one of the potatoes had rolled nearby. He carefully reached for it and hurled it toward the opposite corner of the room in an attempt to distract the creature.

As it left his hand, he saw instead of his own arm that of a boy in school attire. The potato was now a rock flying across a grassy opening and striking another young boy in the head. The boy cried out and clutched the bleeding gash it had opened. Then, in seizure-inducing flashes, he saw the same rough hands of a man stretching out a leather strap. Looming above those hands was a burly face that filled Will with intense loathing. The leering face enraged him without logic or reason.

Then he could see once more the hideous burned man progressing instead for the corner where the potato landed. He turned away to sneak around the other side of the crates, and came face to face with something else.

Before him a woman crouched like a starving bird on her haunches. She peered back at him with wide eyes, ringed with dark circles in her gaunt face. Her bony arms hung loose at her sides, bruised and twisted. Her shoulders looked dislocated, her elbows bent backwards.

“I’m innocent,” she implored him in a drawn-out hiss that sent Will into spasms.

He could not contain his scream. A second later she vanished, but Will already knew his terrible mistake. The burned man screeched from the corner and Will did not wait for him to respond further. He stumbled to his feet and flew into the hallway, slamming the door behind him. He frantically raced toward an opening in the corridor to a small laboratory with a tall cupboard.

As soon as he pulled the door to the cupboard open, he could hear the slapping feet growing close. He climbed inside, and pulled the door shut behind him. In a moment, he could hear the plaintive moaning from inside the room where he hid. He huddled in a squat, hyperventilating with eyes squeezed shut. Then he remembered the lantern in his hand, still glowing from within the cupboard. He quickly opened it and huffed out the light, entombing himself in darkness.

The creature’s sobbing came to a halt, and it stood nearly silent except for its raspy breathing. Will could vaguely see through the crack between cupboard doors. The burned man swayed a bit on its ghastly legs, before suddenly erupting in a cloud of fluttering ash. The odor its combustion produced coated Will’s esophagus, bringing him to a coughing fit. He rubbed his watering eyes with the sleeve of his jacket and waited for the pain in his chest and stomach to subside before he emerged from the cupboard.

He barely stayed upright as he walked toward the laboratory table. Among the beakers and vials, alembic, crucible, retort, lay a bundle of roses.

“Damascus rose,” he heard Lecter’s voice tell him in his mind. He saw the doctor handing him the flower, placing it gently in Will’s fingers so as not to prick him with the thorny stem. Lecter turned away to tinker with the apparatus on his table. “An extraordinary flower. I’ve found that the oil distilled from its petals can be used in a very powerful amnesiac.”

He sniffed a laugh and added, “In addition to an elegant perfume.”

Will brought the rose in front of his lips and drew in a breath of sweetness through his nose. He glanced over and realized that Dr. Lecter was beaming at him. His eyes were soft and endearing.

Will ran his fingers over the stacks of notebooks filled with the doctor’s writing, the foul stench of human ash replacing the delicate fragrance of the rose. One thing was more certain to him now than any other endeavor.

He must find Dr. Lecter.


	3. Chapter 3

Will flipped through the doctor’s notebooks to find any evidence about what might have happened in Castle Brennenburg. He found a very rapidly scratched entry:

_April 12, 1838_

_I have found the answers for which I’ve been searching. Through my studies of countless archaic physicians, alchemists, and philosophers, as well as contemporary mystics (all of whom have been sneered at by modern academics), I have tapped into a discovery that could alter the human experience as we know it. Vitae: liquid derived from the chemicals in the human brain that alleviate pain, increase adrenaline and physical strength, and induce pleasure or even euphoria, can be refined and concentrated into a phenomenal serum. With this serum, humanity could find peace, free from physical suffering, depression and anxiety, and frailty. I am still trying to perfect the method of distilling the chemicals, as well as finding subjects who are most eligible to donate the natural fluid. So far, individuals who already suffer from chronic pain (such as rheumatism, muscular injuries) or environmentally-affected anxiety (not to be confused with pathological anxiety, which I attempt to cure) produce the most powerful vitae. I must explore this further; the welfare of millions is at stake._

Will could hear Dr. Lecter’s voice in his head; hear the urgency in his tone. He felt a sense of pride having known this extraordinary man, and having been taken into his confidence. It was like being the chosen one. He remembered Lecter’s journal in his pocket and pulled it out to the page he had left dog-eared.

_Will finally disclosed to me the fate of his “acquaintances,” poor souls who met violent ends. After hearing his stories, perhaps “poor soul” is not a phrase worth bestowing on these sorts. As I have predicted, they were all in some way harmful to his well-being, or that of others. His employer attempted to embezzle funds from the business and claim it was poor book-keeping on Will’s part, which could have ended in his imprisonment. Upon finding out, the employer essentially blackmailed him into silence. The authorities later found him in his home, virtually folded in half, a case that baffled law enforcement. Cases of this sort occurred with increasing frequency. The final straw was the incident that took place nearly in front of his own eyes. All of this, while useful revelation, still barely scratches the surface, and does not reveal to me the source of his trigger. I only know that it has to do with his father, and his now-deceased younger sister of whom he speaks with great fondness._

_Sister_ , he thought. _I had a sister._

He couldn’t picture her at all, but the thought of having loved someone once filled him with longing to remember. The memories were accumulating now, slowly opening one, touching on, and spreading to others like ripples in a pond.

He envisioned himself running down a London alleyway. A man was ripping at a woman’s clothing, pressing her against the wall as she fought against him.

“Stop!” he called out and the man bolted.

Will did not give chase, but instead saw to the woman who had slid down the wall in tears.

“Madam, are you all right?” he asked, knowing that she could not possibly be, given the situation. It was all he could do to offer platitudes.

He gave her his hand and helped her to her feet. She tried to steady herself and put on an emotionless face. Her attempt to shake off the assault and continue on her life as if nothing had happened, as though this sort of event was to be expected, struck him with nausea. He felt so much anger and disgust with the villainy of the world, and the victims who would never experience real justice.

Suddenly he heard an agonizing cry that rose into a scream and then was cut off abruptly, followed by sounds of thudding and then wet smashing. Will glanced at the woman, gave her a gesture that he would return, and rushed around the corner where the attacker had disappeared.

He was there. Will could tell it was him from the clothing, but that was the only evidence. His face and head had been struck against the wall so repeatedly and with such strength that there was nothing left but a soft knob of skull and dripping flesh.

His eyes darted around the alley in a panic, turning in place to find the culprit. There was no one there. Even more disconcerting, the alley ended in a wall, and there was no exit aside from the way Will had entered.

The memories were so disjointed, coming at him in bits and pieces. It was too confusing for him to even focus. What these acts of seemingly paranormal violence had to do with Lecter’s research on vitae and how it all connected to the creatures that were haunting him, he did not know for certain. He read further.

_Will is truly a remarkable boy. His sense of righteousness and his deeply compassionate nature manifest as demonic anger of which he has very slipshod control, if any. More important than all other projects or research I have toiled away at, is my newfound desire to help him access his truest and finest destiny. Aside from that, I find myself overwhelmed with affection for him. It may not be wise, considering the circumstances, but one cannot control with respect to whom you fall in love. The millions, even billions of people who I cure and whose lives I improve with my work will mean nothing if I am not able to help Will Graham._

Will passed his slender fingers over the ink on the page, over the word “affection” and finally, “love.” He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. The discovery of the words seemed to affect him more deeply than merely accessing a memory. It seemed to him that even before he lost those memories, he never realized how the doctor felt about him.

He carefully closed and bound the journal and put it back into his jacket pocket. Beyond the laboratory was an intersection. He took the left and found himself in a corridor lined with barred cells. His lantern shone upon shackles, hay mattresses, and empty dishes on the floor.

 _How recently was this dungeon used?_ He asked.

It was not unusual for an old castle, particularly one belonging to a Baron, to have a defunct prison system within its walls. This, however, looked and smelled as though it were still in use. Still, they were empty, their solemn iron doors hanging open. Will stepped inside one of the cells and glanced around. A sticky substance stained the floor next to the mattress. He crouched down to smell vomit mingled with the scent of roses.

“You still keep prisoners here?” he had asked Dr. Lecter.

“Not generally, no,” the doctor replied. “There has been some overflow as of late, and I’ve agreed to take on the most abhorrent criminals so that they pose no threat to the community.

“Abhorrent criminals? What are their crimes?”

“Rape, murder,” he paused for a moment to study Will’s face, “Child abuse.”

“People who don’t deserve to go on living,” Will grimaced.

“Some might argue that.”

“You would not, I presume?”

Lecter granted him a placating smile before lowering his eyes.

“For people who cannot be returned to society without putting others at risk,” Lecter explained. “I say either kill them, or perhaps better, put them to use.”

“What use for rapists, murderers, and child abusers?”

The doctor tilted his head down the hall.

“Let me show you.”

Will followed the gesture that his memory of Lecter had made.

“What would you do, Will,” he continued, “To ease the pain and suffering of many?”

 _These damnable criminals,_ he thought to himself as he slowly exited the cell, _they are behind this. They have done something with Dr. Lecter and unleashed the demons of hell on this castle. One of them is surely the “HIM” who I instructed myself to kill in my last waking moments._

He stopped in the doorway when he heard a repetitive dragging sound, off and on. Each drag lasted two or three seconds followed by a beat of silence. It sounded like someone was sliding a very heavy bag across the floor. He couldn’t tell where it was coming from, and so didn’t know which direction to flee toward or if he should simply hide.

Will crossed the hall, moving his head from one direction of the tunnel to the next. The dragging sound had stopped, and there was nothing to be seen. He cautiously lit a torch on the wall and glanced around again, expecting to see something horrible looming beyond the reach of his lantern light.

He decided to progress, but when he did his feet bumped something on the floor. He looked down, and saw a grimy hand with long sharp fingernails reaching out to clutch at his ankle. He leapt back.

It was a man once more, naked and peering up at him from a prone position on his belly.

“I’m innocent,” the man croaked.

“Let me help you,” Will urged. He leaned forward, sending the light of his lantern over the rest of the man’s body. He froze at what he saw.

His torso was riven up the middle, from between his legs; either side of him splayed open like a split hog carcass. He was only whole from his ribcage up. The hand gripped his ankle and squeezed so hard that Will thought he would crush it. It began to climb his leg and pull himself up with fingernails tearing into the meat of Will’s thighs. He kicked at the thing with his other foot, until finally it released and he could back away.

It scurried toward him now, dragging its mutilated body on its elbows. Behind him was left a trail of smeared blood. The faster Will receded backward, the faster the thing crawled after him like a split-tailed snake. Its hand swiped in the air in front of him.

Will ran down the tunnel of cells until he reached an open area with three heavy doors. When he looked behind him he nearly stumbled to see that the crawling thing had kept pace with him, maddeningly quick in its slithering, weaving movements. It was only a couple of yards behind. He tried the first door in front of him and it was unlocked.

After he slammed the door behind him in the face of the split man, he could hear its nails digging into the wood, pulling itself up against it. After a few moments of scratching and fumbling in vain at the handle, the thing seemed to have disappeared. Will held his head and groaned.

He could feel the warmth and weight of the doctor’s hand on his shoulder.

“Be calm, Will,” he murmured. “You have nothing to fear. You can control it.”

“How?” Will asked, beginning to relax his trembling and come down from a panic attack.

“It is your slave,” Lecter replied.

“My slave? It wants to murder me!”

Lecter’s comforting hands were on either side of his neck now. His eyes concentrated on Will’s, as if reaching into his mind and stabilizing him.

“It only follows your own subconscious orders.”

“Ridiculous.”

Lecter’s fingers moved upward, stroking Will’s strained jaw, lovingly brushing his curls away from his face. The air left Will’s lungs in a rush, bringing relief to his aching chest. He closed his eyes and leaned into the doctor’s touch.

“It follows your subconscious desire,” Lecter repeated. “What does that mean, Will?”

The young man chuckled nervously, “What, that I desire to kill myself?”

“You desire punishment, dear Will,” Lecter whispered, his mouth so close to Will’s face that he could feel the warmth of his breath.

A tingling sensation moved up his spine and over his arms, hands, and fingers. He felt his body sway forward, stopping short when there was nobody in front of him to lean against. He opened his eyes once more and observed the room he’d closed himself into. It took his mind a moment to even identify what he was looking at.

In the middle of the room there stood an enormous, gleaming, brazen bull. It filled the opening with a menacing presence, like an ancient Babylonian idol. On its side was a very large trap door, and beneath it an ashy fire pit. He walked toward the bull and placed his hand on the smooth metal of its muscular carved shoulders. The brass seemed to grow warm under his touch.

Now it was even clearer, the metal was certainly growing warmer. Hot, even. He pulled his hand away, surprised by the pain. The statue trembled. From deep within the beast he heard a low mournful sound that filled the cavernous insides and poured out the open mouth. The bull was lowing.

No, that wasn’t the sound of a bull. It was a man, howling in agony from within a brass sarcophagus. Will opened the trap door on the bull’s side, but it was empty.

“No, please!” a pitiful cry echoed in his mind. “Please don’t put me in there!”

Will felt sickness rise in his throat. He could see a man gripping the sides of the trapdoor with strained fingers as someone shoved him in.

“No!” the man screamed as a rod struck him in the chest, pinning him inside and then slamming the door behind him. The fire was lit below the terrible bull. The sounds that the man created moments after were maddening to hear.

In his memory, Will watched from the torturer’s perspective. He looked down at the trap door that glistened with oil in the torch light. In the shining metal, he saw his own reflection looking back at him; not sick or scared or desperate to help, but sneering with hateful eyes and a self-satisfied grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“It’s only a prelude to what you will experience in hell,” he heard his own voice call out above the screams, “At least now you won’t be wasted.”

Will shuddered and cried out at the vision. He staggered back from the bull, waving his hand in front of him in a staunch negating motion.

“No,” he insisted, “I didn’t do this.”

He fell against the door behind him, shaking his head violently and pushing the horrible memory away with everything that he was certain about himself and who he must be. This couldn’t be him. This was a trick.

“I didn’t do this!” he shouted.

But the bull would not stop “lowing.”


	4. Chapter 4

“As I mentioned before, the most potent vitae is collected from individuals experiencing pain and environmentally-produced anxiety.”

Will Graham followed the doctor through the hall of cells to the opening at the end. They turned into one of the side doors. From beyond Lecter, Will could hear the sound of a sudden creaking and metal rattling. He moved out of the way, revealing a grungy man strapped into a chair chained to the floor.

“This man has been condemned to death by local verdict,” Lecter told Will, hanging his lantern on a hook on the wall.

“Well?” the man in the chair slurred, “Get it over with then, ya fuckin’ bastard.”

“I had to plead with the court for permission to use him for scientific research instead. They graciously allowed it, and have been very cooperative on such matters since.”

“Posh fucker,” the man growled. “Lily-ass…”

“Don’t interrupt,” Lecter chided.

The prisoner unleashed a stream of obscenities that Will was forced to speak over.

“What was his crime?”

“This man was a thief,” Lecter answered him. “He entered a family’s home in the night and killed everyone, including the infant in the crib.”

“Wouldn’t stop squealing,” the prisoner chuckled and then coughed.

Will’s eyes burned when he turned back to the man.

“Kill him,” he muttered. “Just end his miserable life.”

“That would be a waste, dear Will.” Lecter tapped his temple, “Vitae. We can collect it for as long as possible before removing him from this world.”

Lecter moved to a work-table against the wall and opened a case there. Inside was a syringe with a very long thick needle, as well as a catheter of sorts, and a drill and hammer.

“Get that vessel,” Lecter instructed as he brought the drill and catheter to the prisoner.

Will lifted the large jar from beneath the table and set it at Lecter’s feet.

The loathsome man was still growling and even began to spit at his captors up until Lecter put the drill against his temple and tapped a puncture wound through the man’s skull.

“Unghh…” the prisoner grunted and then wriggled against his bonds. He cried out as blood trickled over his ear.

Will couldn’t help what he felt at that moment, but it certainly took him by surprise. The man’s prideful vulgarities had disappeared into fearful shrieks, and Will felt satisfied.

“The syringe, please, Will,” Lecter requested, and Will brought it to him. With dexterous physician’s hands, Lecter inserted the syringe and attached the catheter. The other end was lowered into the jar.

“Now to produce the vitae.”

The prisoner wriggled once more and glowered up at Will.

“Fuck the both of you aristocrat fucks.”

Will scoffed and reared his head back in disgust.

“Sir,” Dr. Lecter asked the man, leaning toward him with hands on knees, “Have you any remorse?”

“What are you jabbering about ya poncy cock-sucker?”

“Do you regret, for example, cutting an infant’s throat as he lay swaddled in his crib?”

“What do I care about some shit-pants baby?” he sneered.

“Ah,” Lecter noted, standing again.

“I do not wish to hear him speak any longer,” Will murmured.

Lecter approached him and gazed into his eyes.

“You prefer to hear him scream?”

Will returned the gaze, his chest expanding with strange excitement.

“Yes.”

Will had to leave the room with the brazen bull. He could understand his hatred for the odious man, the desire to scourge him until he regretted his actions. Still, there was no denying to himself what else he felt: a stirring in his lower belly, a scattering of goose bumps up his arms and an airy feeling in his head. He had enjoyed it, with a fervor that bordered on lascivious.

His morbid curiosity caused him to open one of the side doors, where the guilty man had been tortured. Inside he saw a rope and pulley system hanging from the ceiling.

“This man is a rapist,” he heard Lecter say, and he could envision the offender hanging from the ropes, his legs spread apart by chains that were attached to a heavy crank on either side. It was the split man.

“I didn’t do nothing,” he sputtered. “I can’t remember nothing. Where am I?”

“What do we do with rapists, Will?”

“We tear them asunder, from the groin upward,” the young man answered, and his chest swelled once more.

“Please,” the split man begged, “I didn’t do nothing, I swear!”

“All we need,” Lecter told him, retrieving a long two-man saw, “Is to start the cut, about a foot into his body. The rest, we leave to the cranks.”

Will tried to console himself with the knowledge that the burned man in his vision must have also done something truly heinous. He didn’t need to feel sorry for any of them; he didn’t need to feel shame for hurting them. Throughout the process he experienced only a sense of power and vindication.

He examined the work-table against the wall. On it were various implements as well as vials of a pink fluid. He sniffed them and recognized the floral scent. Aside it was a catalog of prisoners and how they were to be treated.

_In order to increase the effectiveness of chemical extraction, Damascus Rose is to be administered to all following prisoners. Without knowledge as to where they are, who they are, and the memories of committing the crime for which they have been condemned, their fear will increase dramatically. As they have no recollection of past torments, they will not have grown accustomed to it, and will produce the most powerful vitae._

_Over time, however, the body itself will form memories and the purity of the chemicals will become diluted. At this point, the prisoners are to be terminated in one last attempt to collect very full-powered vitae._

The roster included an entry for a woman, age 35.

_Kidnapper. The prisoner stole away a very young boy in an attempt to collect ransom. When her plan went awry, she took the boy to a high bridge over rough waters and dropped him into the river with his hands and legs bound. She was spotted doing this and restrained, but the boy drowned before the witnesses could rescue him._

Will turned back to look at the pulley system. Now it was the bird woman’s turn to suffer. She was dangling on tip-toes, her arms pulled behind her back and steadily lifted as her shoulders and elbows popped.

“Please, My Lords!” she cried out, “I am innocent! I have done nothing!”

“You murdered a helpless child,” Will growled, his face close to hers, “for no reason other than greed and malice.”

“No…” the woman whispered, her eyes wild with confusion and fear. “I didn’t do that, I couldn’t have.”

“But you did,” Lecter told her. His face was somber. He never seemed to show the anger that Will had in him.

“My Lord, I swear to you, I am innocent.”

Afterward, Will was a bit shaken. He sat in the doctor’s office, staring ahead at the vials of potion. Lecter approached him and put his hand on his shoulder.

“What is the point of punishing people who can’t remember their crimes?” Will murmured.

“This isn’t punishment,” Lecter answered. “This is justice.”

Will nodded, and turned to face him. His eyes connected with Lecter’s and they exchanged a silent acknowledgment of each other’s complicity. He felt his face move toward him by a subconscious pull, his mouth parting and hovering just inches away from the doctor’s.

“Dr. Lecter,” he whispered.

“Please, Will,” the man replied, “I think it’s time you called me by my first name.”

Even now, Will could hear the sound of the woman’s bones twisting out of their sockets beneath her desperate screams of her innocence. He thought of how it was waking up from what surely must have been a dose of Damascus Rose. He had been like a child, confused and frightened, completely unaware of any wrongdoing or wicked thoughts. How amplified these new victims’ suffering must be, without even the knowledge of guilt to give them any context for their pain.

He bent his head low. He felt a weight on his back and a dull ache in his neck. He questioned the purpose of going on, but it was all he had left. Deeper and deeper he must descend, his own shame fully exposed before him.

All he had to comfort him was the journal of Dr. Lecter, which he could only force himself to read in increments. Each memory uncovered was like a jolt of electricity to his brain, painful and jarring. The next page read:

_I find myself more astonished every day by the depth of Will’s psyche. I now know the full story of how his abilities began. It also explains the origin of his strong sense of justice, and a violent rage that is driven by his profound compassion for the abused and victimized. The only real regret he seems to experience about the ordeal was the change he noticed in his sister. He speaks of her with such enduring love. I must say I envy his devotion to her, even after her death. Tears formed in his eyes as he told me how her feelings toward him transformed in an instant. He speaks of her face when she saw his true nature for the first time. From then on, until she died of consumption less than a year later, he felt cut off from her. It broke his heart completely._

Will realized his eyes were growing wet even now. He wiped his cheek with a shaking hand and put the journal away. He had love, and then he lost it. It seemed so appropriate now that he came to Dr. Lecter alone and loveless. Was he really so wicked? Was his “true nature” so abominable? He grimaced and stretched his sore neck and back.

He took Lecter’s words to heart. He was only compassionate, only wishing to purge the evil from this world and give the innocent the avengement they deserved. In any case, the doctor clearly accepted him, even loved him. Perhaps he was the only one who could.

He headed back toward the intersection beyond the laboratory and took the other turn. The end of this corridor opened into a strange new atrium. It was little more than a walkway surrounded on both sides by water. The bridge was lined with a stone gate illuminated by lit lamp posts. At the end, a broad studded door awaited.

He moved forward at no better than a trudge. The weight on his back had become oppressive, the pain in his neck sharp and burning. Exhausted, he staggered to the side of the bridge and leaned against the gate. He struggled to catch his breath, as though his throat were constricted. As he leaned, he glanced down at the pool beneath him. He could see his profile reflected in the water.

She was there. The bird woman straddled his back, her legs and one of her arms wrapped around his torso like powerful ropes. The other arm was tight around his neck. Her pale blue lips were near his ear, and it was only now that he could see her and really feel the corporeal effect of her presence.

“This isn’t punishment,” she whispered in a dry hiss, “This is justice.”

He couldn’t even gather the strength to cry out. He fell to his knees, his eyes rolling back into his head as he lost consciousness.

“Will!” a sweet, girlish voice rang out.

Again the sound of crunching snow, and the sight of wet shoes pushing forward.

“Abigail,” he replied, “I brought you something.”

His own voice was lighter, so much younger.

Abigail rushed up to him. Like Will, her eyes were blue but her hair dark. Her smile dimpled her pale face, the cold bringing a chafed blush to her cheeks.

He pulled some items out of his worn, too-large coat pockets.

“Bread, from the lunch line,” he told her. “It’s cold and hard now, but it doesn’t taste bad.”

She took it from him with gratitude.

“I also snuck this from the library,” he continued. “It’s a book of poems.”

“You shouldn’t steal,” she warned. “If they catch you, they’ll put you out.”

“They won’t catch me,” he bragged.

She shot him a reprimanding look, but eventually broke into a smile.

“You are too charming for your own good.”

“Don’t tell father,” he murmured.

“Of course,” she answered as they exchanged a conspiratorial nod.

A flash later and they were both in a dim alleyway. Her face was in shadows, but he could still see her expression. There was no tender smile on her lips, no pride and adoration in her eyes. All of that had been stricken away by shock and horror, directed at him.

“What have you done?” she whispered, and he felt as though he would never know warmth again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay. I took a post-holiday trip and it was extended even longer than I expected. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

When he could move, he pulled himself toward the door, and when he could crawl, he did just that. Eventually he was walking half-bent on trembling legs. He opened the door as far as he was able and slipped inside.

It was a small chapel, lined with two rows of pews. At the front was a chancel and a marble statue of the Virgin Mary. She seemed to watch him with her empty carved eyes as he limped to a pew and sat down.

"An odd place for a church," he mused aloud, tiny smirk touching his lips, "right next door to a torture chamber."

He sighed and cocked his head, returning Mary's watchful gaze.

"I see even arbiters of justice must wash their hands when they are finished."

He pulled Lecter's journal out and read further.

_Supposing Will had never had his experience on the schoolyard, and following with his father, would he have remained spiritually dormant? If he had been raised with compassion and temperance, would he have never cultured a lust for violence? I watch him take out his hatred for evil on these prisoners in a most sadistic and enthusiastic, no I should say even gleeful, manner and I wonder what beauty could have been lost were circumstances different. Is he the sum of his parts, or was he always, and would he always be, my beautiful Will?_

Will swallowed and winced when he glanced back at the Virgin. He read on.

_His shame and anxiety hold him back. Naturally, it was fostered by his father, who used to beat him with regularity in front of his sister, who was forced to watch. It was how he kept the both of them in line, Will being humiliated and Abigail being frightened for her brother's safety. His oscillating emotions and his general skittishness remain. One moment he is a vision of bliss and I could fall on my knees before him with tears in my eyes, but the next his light is shrouded in regret. He agonizes over it all, and I am frustrated once more. Even so, it is his shame and guilt that bring forth the egregores and give them strength and solidity. There must be a way to elevate him to his full potential._

_I walk a tightrope, I can see. I bring him back to his initial trigger, but worry that rubbing the bruise will cause the sharp pain to dull into uselessness. If I present him with every method I have all at once, the results could be disastrous._

Will closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose. He thought he could smell grass. His face twitched and he thought he could hear the sounds of children playing.

_What did he see in me?_ he wondered,  _that was so beautiful? Could it be beautiful, or could he be just as insane as I am?_

"Just fall over!"

He felt something shove him and his back hit soft ground. He looked up to see a hefty boy standing over him, his arm outstretched. He started to rise again.

"Stay down!"

The hand hit him in the chest and he collapsed onto his haunches. The child was strong. Too strong. He realized that he was small again. Just a boy, pushed about by a larger boy.

Nearby, other schoolchildren tittered. No one stopped what was happening.

"When I tell you to fall over, you fall over," the boy sneered, "and when I tell you to get up, you can get back up."

He stooped like a dog with his head lowered, his eyes turned upward. The boy was laughing at him, so proud of himself for having established his small realm of superiority. That smug face disgusted him. In his moment of humiliation, he struggled with what he knew he should do to protect himself—stay down, submit—and what he wanted. This bully was just a boy, hardly even an avatar for who he really hated. Regardless, every drop of venom he had stored up within him and kept hidden away was pooling. Right there, right then, this was who he wanted to hurt.

His eyes dropped to notice a fist-size rock lying in the grass. Seemingly disembodied from his own psyche, his hand reached and grasped it, rolling it in his fingers to adjust his grip.

The boy had not quieted, but he was no longer focused on Will. He chattered on to his friends with chest puffed. The schoolmate he had just subjugated wasn’t even significant enough to hold his attention. That was what pushed Will over the edge.

Some people will never feel remorse; some people will never struggle under the oppressive weight of shame and self-doubt. They plow through their oblivious lives, razing whomever they like and never giving anyone else a second thought. What peace that must entail. Envy was not in Will’s nature, but he envied that.

The realization was what fueled the force behind Will’s arm. That bully may not understand how he had affected him, but he would at least know consequences. Instant euphoria followed.

So, why did that insidious creature, regret, clutch him as he watched the stone fly across the grass and knock the boy in the head? Why did his heart seize when his classmate stumbled back and pressed his hands against the bleeding gash on his forehead?

It seemed not a moment later that he was in front of the door to his own house. He knew he lived in relative squalor. He knew the headmaster who clutched him by the collar was justifying in his mind all of the opinions he had about the lower class being admitted into school with more respectable children.

His humiliation sank him deeper when his father opened the door. The man hulked in an undershirt, his suspenders fallen over his hips. He grunted at the headmaster. No grace, no etiquette in this man.

_This is where I come from,_ Will thought.

The rough, burly hand of his father clamped down on the front of Will’s school jacket and he yanked him inside and slammed the door in the headmaster’s face without waiting for an explanation.

Will prayed that Abigail was not home. He could bear the pain of a beating, but her terror was too much. Will’s prayers never meant much to the universe, and today was no exception. His little sister was darning by the window, blue eyes widening when she saw Will dragged inside.

Will didn’t remember if he cried out. He didn’t even remember the sting of the blows. The most jagged points of his memory were the sounds of Abigail begging her father to stop.

That night, the man lumbered out to the alley to take a piss. Will could see him through the greasy window from his bed. He remembered how it felt to hurl the rock at the bully. Beneath sinking guilt the ember of euphoria still glowed; righteous contempt, made tangible. He had never experienced anything more satisfying.

Even knowing that regret was imminent, he climbed out of bed and grabbed the very strap that his father had used to beat him.

He buried all sense of reason, all inhibitions, beneath the tears of his sister and the misery of their shared lives. He could suppress shame so easily when he really put his mind to it. He had learned that today, and it was exhilarating.

The large man never heard the soft footsteps behind him. The leather strap slid around his throat and pulled tight. His hands flew up, but not before the leather had already dug into his flesh with no slack to work his fingers between it and his windpipe.

He felt a foot at the base of his spine, and the addition of further weight. Someone was climbing his back as though scaling a cliff. As he choked desperately for air, windpipe collapsing painfully, he shot a glance at the window in front of him. His own boy’s face glared back at him, and for a split second he thought he was looking inside his house. His last moments of consciousness brought the realization that this was a reflection. His son was on his back, rappelling off of him with his legs and strangling him with every ounce of his weight.

The dead man was heavy, but even so, Will put forth the effort to roll him over on his back and then prop him sitting against the wall. His father’s knife fell out of his pocket and Will scooped it up.

He held it in his hand and thought of how his father would lean against the wall peeling an apple with that knife, dropping peels on the floor of their home. It was such a simple memory, but like any image he saw of the man, it carried with it a heightened sense of irritation.

He looked at his face. How could he still hate a dead man so much? He was gone, was he not? Father’s eyelids were slightly parted through which Slivers of milky eyes could be glimpsed. He didn’t look dead. He looked drunk. Will straddled his father’s lap on the ground and gripped the blade.

When he had finished, he leaned back on his haunches. His hands were bloody, his arms aching from effort. What looked back at him was a thing of nightmares.

He had slit the corners of his father’s mouth and broken his jaw so that it hung open in a loose gape. His eyelids, he had sliced off completely, baring fish eyes rimmed in red and unblinking. He couldn’t recognize him anymore. The mutilation flooded him with relief. There was no face left to hate or fear anymore.

He heard the gasp, and his neck felt stiff as though he couldn’t turn his head without force.

“Will!” Abigail exclaimed in a tight voice.

He did look at her. He had no choice. His triumph was so short-lived. Any relief he had gleaned from killing and disfiguring his life’s greatest foe was crushed beneath the weight of those steel blue eyes.

“What have you done?”

Will relaxed into the pew, tears brimming.

_God forgive me,_ he thought, gazing up at the statue of Mary.

The young woman’s peaceful expression consoled him. Her arms extended toward him draped in carved linens, as though offering him an embrace. The Virgin was wrought from stone, but she seemed to grow soft and warm as flesh. He saw pity in her. Pity for him.

_When Father was gone_ , Will reminded himself,  _Abigail and I went to stay with a nice family who heard our father had been brutally murdered. Our lives improved so much. When she died, it was comfortable in bed with a doctor at hand._

Mary seemed to nod ever so slightly.

_A cruel man, a man who helped no one but himself, was removed from the world. How could that be considered a tragedy, or even a wrongdoing?_

The crease between Will’s brows smoothed and his mouth parted. Mary seemed to be of cold stone once more.

He felt the vibration of heavy footfalls in his legs before he heard them. He instinctively jumped to his feet, a recognition in the back of his thoughts that he had once again awakened the chastisement of his own mind.

It was standing in the room with him once more; the first beast he had encountered in this place. He knew now what he was looking at. The lumbering monstrosity was his mutilated father, larger than life, face gaping open and silent. It charged toward the side of the pews and began to shove them to the side, making its way to Will.

"Back!" Will exclaimed, his face showing righteous fury. The beast did not stop.

"You..." he breathed, "Are my own creation, and my slave."

The thing did not appear to care, and Will jumped out of the way of a pew slamming into another and cracking.

"Help me, Dr. Lecter," he whispered, then continued to shout, "I am not ashamed of what I have done. I... have a right... to defend myself, to defend my family and my community from the wicked and destructive."

The monster broke through all barriers with hardly any resistance and soon he was upon Will Graham. He towered over him as though Will were still only a small boy.

"You aren't real," Will croaked. He shook his head desperately. "You can't hurt me."

With that, the monster gripped him by the front of his jacket and lifted his feet from the floor. He stared into its blood-ringed eyes and smelled the sour, rotten stench coming from its gaping maw. Will cried out as it swung him to one side, smacking his sore head against the stone wall. His eyes went blurry and he drooped in its enormous clutches. He felt himself be thrown over its shoulder and watched the floor move beneath him as he was carried from the room.

"I can find no better use for vitae," he heard Dr. Lecter's voice say, "than to give it to you, Will. The strength with which it will imbue your mind and body will make you able to withstand the pressure of your egregores. Once you can resist their attacks upon yourself, you can use them to protect you instead. They will become the gun in your hand."

"I do not want this power," Will told him. "I want to be rid of them. I want to live in peace."

"I am very disappointed to hear you say that, dear Will. I only hope you come to realize what a tragic waste that would be."

Will felt his body fall to the floor and heard the creak and slam of an iron gate. He shivered and blinked as fast as he could to clear his vision. When he looked up, he saw that he had been locked into one of the prison cells.

He waited to listen for anything nearby and then lifted himself up and tried to open the cage door. It was securely locked.

_What am I to do now?_ he despaired, slumping against the wall and sliding down to the hay bed on the floor. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

"Please, forgive me this, Will. I only ever wanted to show you your true potential. The power you wield could change the world, don't you see?"

His eyes opened again and he furrowed his brow. His mind was racing, but only against hurdles that couldn't be overcome, walls that couldn't be torn down.

"Justice."

His eyes darted toward the bars of his cell. Through them, along the wall opposite and shrouded in darkness, he could see them watching him. The burned man, the bird woman, the split man, and a dozen others. They hung back in the shadows, glowering at him silently.

Will's lips parted as his eyes moved over each of their faces.

"I don't deserve this," he finally told them. "I have done nothing wrong. I am innocent."

They disappeared as if into the gray stones behind them. Will sighed. Perhaps he had the strength of mind after all.

Suddenly hands gripped the bars of his cell and the sickly woman's face was pressed against them, her lips pulled back from her teeth and spittle flying from her mouth.

"I'm innocent!" she screamed, shaking the bars.

The rest of them were slamming against the cell as well, shoving their arms through the bars, reaching for him, screaming at him in a collective storm of voices.

"I'm innocent! I'm innocent!"

They shook the bars and pushed against them, the entire crowd hungry to put their hands on him. The stone that held the doors in place began to crumble and give way under their advances.

Will scrambled to his feet and kept himself as far away from their grasping fingers as he could. Their cries were deafening. One side of the iron bars broke away from the stone opening and the monsters were inches away from bursting through. The entire cell trembled.

Beside him, Will heard a stone fall to the ground. He looked at it and saw that there was a hole in the wall to another room. He pried at the stones around the opening until they began to fall away.

His many victims continued to shriek and reach out for him as he opened the wall just enough to crawl through to the other side.

 


	6. Chapter 6

The smell of lye and ammonia forcefully struck him as he toppled through the crawlspace onto the stone floor. It turned his head and next his stomach when the underlying scent of death filtered through. He moved forward in the dark and his feet momentarily tripped over the edge of a grate of some sort on the floor. He found the door and pulled it open through a great deal of effort. It seemed to be made of dense lead. When he slammed it behind him, the solid crashing thud that instantly cut short the cries of the prisoners was satisfying.

He was so shaken that it took him a moment to realize that the room in which he was standing was illuminated. He turned slowly, hair prickling at the novel sensation that was evidence of other human life.

The walls were lined with ingenious attached lamps in which the flames were elongated in tall cylindrical tubes and fed from a single piped oil supply that encircled the room. Will considered how long the lights of such a system could be sustained. Perhaps this room was recently used, but with this device, perhaps not.

It was another laboratory, but larger and far better equipped. Hefty, industrial grade calcinators and alembic stills stood amidst marble-top tables of beakers and tools. There was an order and preciseness here that suggested not research and testing but production. The only state of disarray was around the tall cabinet in the corner.

The door looked dented and the lock was broken. It sagged on its hinges and didn’t quite shut; on the floor before it, a stain that spread out in splotches. Will moved toward the cabinet and found a bin to one side filled with broken glass. He felt a twinge of sadness and remorse at the sight of all that loss. Upon opening the cabinet, he found nothing remained but a single bottle in the middle of one shelf. Tucked beneath it was a note that read, “If you should return, and remember.”

Will examined the bottle.

“Vitae,” he whispered aloud. He pulled out the cork and lifted the bottle to his nose. It smelled coppery and slightly salty. The clear liquid inside was thick as mucus.

“What are you feeling, Will?” Dr. Lecter had asked. His voice was the reassuring sweep of a lighthouse beam.

“Dizzy,” Will answered as he sat in the chair inside Lecter’s library. His head was nearly tucked between his knees.

“When I told you I didn’t know what to predict, I was sincere,” the doctor replied. “I have not been able to take this concentrated a dose and of course, I’ve never tested it on someone with your capabilities.”

Will looked up at him with an admonishing glare and said, “You are taking quite the risk with my life, Dr. Lecter.”

“I have faith in you,” he responded.          

“That is very reassuring.”

Will swallowed the saliva that was pouring into his mouth.

“I think I may vomit.”

“Pop your ears,” Lecter advised, and smiled fondly as Will opened his mouth and rotated his jaw.

“I’m not convinced that this serum will alleviate my condition.”

“It will give you strength of mind,” Lecter responded.

“Yes, and what if that exacerbates it?”               

The doctor did not respond, but continued jotting in his journal.

That night, Will awoke in a feverish state. He quivered and threw his blankets off. A strange hot and cold sensation traveled through his body and over his extremities. He suddenly felt lightheaded and intoxicated as if on opiates. His body stretched out on the mattress as he stared ahead wide-eyed and slack-jawed. He couldn’t be sure how long the daze lasted, but when it did end he felt a surge of energy and a brilliant clarity of thought. The objects around his room, obscured by darkness, came into view.

Amazed, he leapt out of bed and began to pace. Blood pumped through his veins with a new vigor. Before he knew it, his cock began to rise within his breeches. He couldn’t help but laugh. Despite himself, he felt deliriously happy; euphoric, even.

He made his way to Dr. Lecter’s bedroom and didn’t bother knocking before letting himself in.

“Doctor!” he announced, and Lecter sat up in bed, apparently shocked to see Will standing over him in his underthings with a half-erection and a gleaming smile on his face.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and implored, “Tell me everything, Will. What does it feel like?”

Will’s wide grin did not fade, but his brow furrowed when he scanned the doctor. The lines of the man’s torso guided Will’s enhanced vision up, over the soft hairs of his chest and the broadness of his shoulders. Lecter’s face was turned upward, shining in the moonlight, his expression open and very much in awe of the man standing before him. His sandy hair was mussed and drifted over his forehead endearingly.

It was then that Will truly grasped what the doctor felt. The man worshipped him. His head was no longer clouded with self-loathing and fear and he could finally see the utter devotion and longing in Lecter’s eyes.

Now, before the cupboard, Will rotated the last bottle between his fingers. He felt the pull of the serum. The memory of power and bliss and the way Lecter saw him when was under its effects was an addiction rearing its head. He cautioned himself to conserve what little remained, and tucked it away.

A groan rumbled somewhere above him and he felt a shudder from deep within the castle. It was followed by the muffled sound of something crumbling.

“The walls of Brennenburg are coming down around us, Will.”

The ground shuddered again and he felt himself falling, heard the crack of the balcony, saw the towering figure launching toward him, and the floor rising to greet him. Then he saw his bloody hand stretching out as it etched _KILL H_.

“If I could kill my father once more, I would,” Will grimaced.

The relative calm of the moment allowed him to search through Lecter’s journal again.

“Where are you, Doctor?”

The final entry was a scratchy, desperate scrawl.

_He is stronger when broken._

The words unsettled him. He flipped back the pages.

_October 8, 1839_

_Will has risen to the occasion to help me gather vitae. The prisoners cower before what appears to them a supernatural being. I cower before him, and I love every moment of it. A god reigns in glory unmatched, but what of the man who creates god? I could bring vitality and health to the mortal realm, but none would reach the heights of my Will._

_October 20_

_The egregores have vanished. The serum overrides his propensity for guilt and shame. I am a fool. How could I not realize that to eliminate any quality of Will’s being would compromise his exceptionality? He considers it a blessing. Does he not understand the power he possesses? He has an invincible army at his fingertips. A cold gaze in the direction of any foe and in a matter of minutes, they are vanquished. I must bring the egregores back. He must find a way to balance introspection and exertion. I will have to make my confession and pray that I don’t become his next victim. I am bolstered by my belief that he loves me nearly as much as I love him._

“What madness is this?” Will muttered.

The lights flickered momentarily when the castle shook again.

“Into the sanctum!” he heard the doctor shout. “Please, Will, I beg of you!”

The voice was so clear that he couldn’t tell if it was real or in his mind. He dashed from the laboratory onward.

“Doctor Lecter!” he cried out.

There was no one in the room beyond. What he found instead was a vast infrastructure. It was the heart of Brennenburg, the only thing that kept the castle from collapsing under its own weight from the vicious tremors.

“Who destroyed us, Doctor?” he called out to the empty spaces between wide, towering columns. “Was it you, or I?”

A massive portcullis guarded one square pillar in the center. Lining the walls were inscriptions in chalk.

“A fail-safe,” Lecter had told him, “In the event that the spirits become too powerful.”

“The spirits are gone,” Will said.

“They may return.”

The castle above rumbled, but the heart was sturdy. Will ran his fingers over the door. Could Lecter have made it inside?

He heard chattering and shrieking from all around. The monstrosities were gathering at the edges of the vestibule. They stared at him balefully, only able to inch forward slowly before the etchings on the sanctum walls.

Will pulled the vitae out of his pocket and held it up for them to see. He removed the cork and knocked the serum back like a shot of liquor.

The sickness was brief. He could tell that his body had been in withdrawal from the vitae, because instant relief flooded him. He cackled as the blood warmed in his veins and he felt power surge through him.

The monsters disappeared one by one, scattering like ants. Only one remained; bird woman. He strode toward her, but still she lingered.

“Why are you still here?” he growled. “Are you not afraid of me now?”

The woman lifted her hands and placed them on either side of his face. They were icy and frail.

“Kill him…” she hissed.

“I already killed him, in a filthy back alley. He only exists if I allow it.”

She shook. Her throat clicked as her dry tongued worked out the words.

“Kill… Hannibal Lecter.”

Will blinked.

_I think it’s time you called me by my first name._

“Hannibal,” he had said to him with a quirky smile. The name was strange on his lips, but he treasured it.

He grabbed the bird woman by her throat and lifted her from the ground.

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” he snarled, “For me to kill my only friend and once again be alone in this world?”

She went limp in his hands, eyes empty and dead. He saw himself dropping her corpse into the grate in the middle of the room behind the large lab. Her body landed on top of the pile below.

“You don’t feel at all guilty,” Lecter stated, “Having murdered all of these people.”

“Why should I feel guilty? Will asked. “Do you?”

“Not in the least, but I am not you.”

“I’ve overcome it,” he replied, letting the grate slam shut. “I’ve learned there is no shame in a righteous kill.”

“Is it because they were wicked?” Hannibal asked. “Not because you simply enjoy the cruelty?”

“Of course it is because they were wicked,” Will insisted. “I am not a monster.”

“I am.”

The doctor’s voice had grown soft.

“How do you mean?”

“They were telling the truth, Will,” Lecter told him in an eerily placid tone. His expression was indecipherable. “They were innocent.”

A nervous laugh escaped Will’s throat.

Lecter continued, “Everyone after the infant killer. Local villagers. Kidnap victims.”

“Why are you…?” Will’s brow twitched. He was still frozen in place by the grate. “Why are you lying to me?”

“I’m not lying, Will,” he answered, almost sympathetically. “For once, I’m telling you the truth.”

The castle began to shiver. Will’s face was still trained on Lecter’s, his body motionless. Other than the sound of the building creaking, there was lasting silence. The young man’s eyes widened and now he stared into the middle distance.

“Every man and woman you tortured…” the doctor went on, his voice drifting further away from Will as though dissociating from his reality.

“Stop,” Will finally croaked, and Lecter did.

“Stop,” he said again, firmer, even though there was no need. He swallowed and asked, “Why?”

“Because they are beneath you. They are all beneath you.”

Will’s eyes focused again and he glared at Hannibal viciously. A chorus of wails and cries rang out from beyond the walls. All around them, abominations awoke as if from slumber.

Lecter’s eyes turned upward and darted around.

“That was sudden,” he murmured.

“You have damned me,” Will whispered.

Brennenburg groaned and quaked as if in agreement.


	7. Chapter 7

“Will, take control of yourself!”

Hannibal called at him through the corridor. He raced after the young man as the walls shook and the sound of prison doors slamming created a hideous cacophony.

They could hear rushing footsteps from the upper rooms and staircases; nightmare entities drawing nearer.

“Remember that you have power over them!”

Will turned back to gesture forcefully at the trailing doctor.

“Stay away from me!”

"Please, forgive me this, Will. I only ever wanted to show you your true potential. The power you wield could change the world, don't you see?"

Will ignored his pleas.

“They are coming for you, Will,” Hannibal persisted. “You must take more of the vitae, now!”

Again Will turned and then strode past Hannibal, pushing him to the side. Lecter followed him into the laboratory.

“I have a bottle with me,” he told him.

“I don’t want the bottle,” Will snarled.

He approached the cabinet.

“Open the lock,” he commanded.

“Will, don’t be foolish.”

“You know I can pry it open, I am still under the lingering effects from the last dose.”

Hannibal drew closer and gripped the young man’s arm. Will nodded decisively and stepped back. He delivered a swift kick to the door, then another. The lock bent and then popped from its casing.

“Will, don’t.”

Lecter’s voice was oddly calmed again; paternal.

“You’ll control me with this murderous concoction no more!”

Will swept his arms over the shelves, knocking the entire stack of vitae to the floor. The bottles shattered, spilling their syrupy contents.

Hannibal watched helplessly as months of work were destroyed. His fists clenched. There was a speechless moment between them as Will studied the man’s face and felt a pang of regret.

“Don’t you understand,” Hannibal sighed, “How dearly I love you? I would do anything for you, to see you rise.”

“You love me as much as anyone can love a pet.”

“I never thought of you like that.”

Their exchange was interrupted by a clanging sound from the back room. The grate opened and fell to the floor with a clatter. The two stared at the lead door. After a silence that crept over their skin like roaches, a heavy thudding boomed from the other side.

“Will,” Lecter whispered sternly, “Let us retreat until we can gain some calm.”

Will’s brow furrowed as the door shuddered and bent from the blows.

“This is unique,” he muttered.                                 

He looked at Hannibal and saw something in his face that he’d never seen before; thinly-veiled terror.

The door suddenly burst from its hinges, revealing a massive figure. It stooped to pass through the doorway, its chin draped to its collar and its bloodshot eyes ever-staring.

“It can’t…” Will stammered. “God, no, it can’t be.”

“Will, we must go!” Lecter shouted, and the young man snapped out of his paralyzed state of shock.

The two of them bolted from the lab and ran through the vestibule.

“Into the sanctum!” Dr. Lecter called as they neared the column. Will stopped short.

“Will!” the doctor cried.

“This is where I leave you, Hannibal,” Will shouted over the din of the castle coming alive.

“They will kill you!”

“Maybe that’s just fine,” Will replied.

“The walls of Brennenburg are coming down, around us, Will!” Hannibal plead. He gripped Will by the face and stared into his eyes. “Please, just follow me inside. I have a protective talisman we can both…”

“I don’t want to be protected.”

“Do not leave me,” Lecter implored. “Stay with me until daylight at least, in the clarity of the morning. Please, Will, I beg of you. Let us talk about this.”

“Your words,” Will croaked, “They are poison to me.”

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed. Suddenly, he pulled something out of his pocket and thrust it against Will’s mouth. Surprised by the movement, Will coughed as the liquid touched his lips and tongue. He shoved Lecter back and the doctor fell to the ground in a heap, the vial in his hand smashing on the floor. The potion was pale pink.

Will spat, but he could already feel his mouth beginning to numb.

“Is there any depth to which you won’t stoop?” he screamed.

“I can save you, Will,” Lecter begged, climbing to his knees, “Not only now, but forever. I can bring you peace with yourself, your gifts, and your deepest desires.”

Will’s eyes grew damp and he gasped shakily.

“I still have time to leave Brennenburg. If the end of my life is near, at least I won’t share a grave with you.”

Lecter shook and reached for Will as he watched him run away.

Will grew dizzy as he took a back stairway to the surface; one that led to the upper rooms. When he pushed the panel open, he stumbled into Lecter’s room and clutched his head as his thoughts began to swirl in his mind like glimpses of the dream world right before one drifts into sleep.

He realized now, in the quaking room, that he was sobbing. Hannibal’s betrayal was a dagger, but this pain ran even deeper.

As he rushed out to the upper floor balcony, the structure sagged downward, nearly spilling him over the banister. He steadied himself and turned around to come face to face with the beastly form of his father. It loomed over him, his chest heaving and air gurgling in his gory throat.

Will’s mouth fell open as he cowered in horror; that of a man standing before the gates to his personal hell.

“It is only fitting,” he cried, “That you would be the one to finally end my wretched existence.”

The monster growled low, its putrid breath filling Will’s throat and nostrils. Then, it lifted his tremendous hands and shoved him so hard in the chest that it knocked the wind out of him. Will toppled over the banister and fell to the first story.

His head smacked against the floor, and blood began to pour over his forehead. His mind was nearly gone, and as everything steadily fell away from him, the castle grew quiet once more. He smeared the blood from his head over his fingers.

“Kill… Hannibal…” he groaned aloud.

As he drew out the last stroke of the “H” he lost consciousness.

He found himself now in an open English field. His hands stretched to brush the tops of tall grass.

“Will,” a sweet voice said to him.

He looked to see an even sweeter face.

“Abigail,” he breathed.

“Look how you’ve grown,” she beamed. She put her hands on both of his shoulders.

“Time has separated us,” Will told her, eyes taking her in. “Life, in all its ugliness, has separated us.”

“Is it all so ugly?”

She gazed out at the golden grass that danced in the licking breeze.

“I have… so much hate,” Will croaked through stinging tears and tight throat. “Not least of which is for myself.”

“Brother,” she whispered as she held him. Will trembled as he felt her gentle embrace once again after so many bitter years. He laid his head on her shoulder.

“Whether you believe you deserve love,” she continued, “You have it, all the same.”

Will’s sharp exhale caught between his teeth.

“All I ever wanted,” his voice quavered, “Was to see you look at me once more, as though I was your family.”

She turned her face up to him, and brushed her fingers through his curls. Her smile was like sunlight, and she cherished him.

Then, it was dark.

The bird woman was no longer in his clutches. No one remained in the vestibule aside from him. The vitae he had taken was opening his mind, clearing away any prolonged effects of the Damascus Rose.

For a moment all he could muster was a wounded bleat. He rubbed his hands over his face and shuddered. Slowly, he turned around to face the portcullis. He pressed his palms against it, and rested his head. Then, with a deep inhale, he reached down and began to pull the door open. It creaked and inched upward. Will bit his lip and lifted the gate high enough to duck under.

As the door crashed shut behind him and his back straightened, he heard the weak, labored voice.

“You came back.”


	8. Chapter 8

The doctor slumped against a pillar on a platform in the middle of the room. He was surrounded by a throbbing otherworldly light that appeared to emanate from a crystal shard placed in a niche on the column. Notwithstanding the aura which seemed to live and breathe with a vital pulse, the man was broken and exhausted. He struggled to his feet and lifted his eyes to Will. The embers of his inner mind were fading behind a dejected gaze.

“You’ve been hurt,” Will stated. He tried to withhold the evidence of distress in his tone. It caused his voice to sound strange and monotonous, disconnected from his throat.

Lecter recognized the sentiment nevertheless. His eyes locked onto Will’s and a spark of energy ignited within them, uninhibited by the failings of his body.

He reminded Will of when they had first met. Such hope in his eyes; pangs of desire that had stretched on endlessly. Will would be lying to himself if he claimed that he didn’t experience the same flash of hope, the same urgency for relief.

Even so, his nightmares plagued him. One night, not long after he arrived, he dreamt that he was chasing after the brute who attacked the young woman in the London alley way. The dream was eerily silent, aside from a low hum as though his ears were plugged.

He rounded the corner in his pursuit, but instead of finding the dead attacker, he found himself. The little boy crouched on his haunches against the house wall next to the corpse of his father. He rocked back and forth and sobbed soundlessly, clutching the sides of his curly head with bloody hands. The hum in Will’s ears grew deafening.

His own scream shocked him awake. It seemed to rip through the stillness and quiet of his bedroom and he was instantly ashamed of the noise he had made. His embarrassment deepened when minutes later he heard a soft rap on his door.

“Apologies!” Will called out.

The door opened regardless. Lecter entered carrying a candle, his lit form moving toward Will in the midst of seemingly impossible darkness.

“Please,” Will urged, “Everything is fine. It was only a nightmare.”

The doctor sat on the edge of the bed and set the candle on the night stand.

“You don’t have to… I am truly sorry…” Will stammered, but was cut short when Lecter reached out and placed cool hands on his forehead and the sides of his neck. His eyes were focused upward as he gauged the temperature of Will’s skin.

Will stiffened in his seat on the bed. The touch was startling. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had doted on him. Not since Abigail…

“You have a high fever,” Lecter told him. He seemed genuinely concerned.

“I’ll be all right.”

Suddenly Lecter stood and retrieved the candle. He extracted all the light with him when he strode out of the room.

“Again, terribly sorry!” Will called.

He sighed deeply and fell back on his mattress. It was already a problem. He was a burden and an irritant, this time not only to his peers but a noble Baron. He prepared himself for the inevitable-that he would ever-so-courteously be asked to leave.

He was about to sink once more into fitful sleep when he heard a creak. He shot up in bed, heart racing.

It was the doctor again, carrying his candle atop a tray, surrounded by a small basin and a teacup.

“Oh,” Will insisted, “Please don’t be bothered.”

“It is no bother,” Lecter assured him. He set down the tray and dipped a cloth into the basin.

Will shuddered when the cold wet cloth wrapped around his neck.

Lecter then lifted the teacup to him and said, “This contains fever-reducing herbs. It will also help you sleep.”

Will stared at him for a moment and the doctor pressed forth the cup like a persistent mother. He took it and gave it a sniff. The animalistic habit brought out a tiny snicker from Lecter. Will cleared his throat and dutifully sipped the tea.

“Have you been suffering from frequent nightmares?”

“Oh, it’s just the stress from travel, I’m sure,” he replied.

Lecter’s head dropped in a cock to one side and he shot Will an incredulous scold of a smile.

“Yes,” Will admitted. “They have been getting worse.”

“And while you are awake?”

“I see shadows out of the corners of my eyes,” Will answered, “As if I am in a haunted place.”

“But it is not Brennenburg that is haunted, Will.”

“You must think me delusional.”

“Not at all,” Lecter told him, voice soft and so very warm. “I have seen and heard some inexplicable phenomenon as well; shadows and whispers.”

“I have brought this curse to your doorstep,” Will sighed.

“You, and everything accompanying you, are welcome within these walls.”

Will’s throat felt hoarse and he drank up the last of the tea. The doctor took the cup and then dipped the remaining cloth in the basin water.

“Lie back,” he instructed.

Will obeyed. He gazed up at Dr. Lecter, slowly blinking as the man draped the cold damp linen across his forehead. He looked back at him and Will thought he saw affection there. His hand rested on his chest.

Even the family that had taken him and Abigail in did not touch him this way, look at him this way. It made him feel uncomfortable, but beneath the tension in his muscles every time Lecter’s hands moved over him, was something like a deep knot being rubbed out.

Now seeing the doctor like this in the sanctum; the fragile one, his throat became hoarse again. The anger and sense of betrayal he’d felt seemed like ages ago after everything that had happened. A certain bitterness remained. How could he differentiate the affection from manipulation? Either way, he could not deny that Dr. Lecter had affected him more profoundly than almost anyone in his life had.

“I left the security of the sanctum to place the potion in the lab,” Hannibal explained. “The spirits were gone at the time, but then…”

Will felt the stiffness in his body spread to the muscle of his heart aching in his chest. It almost seemed to continue to beat only from sheer will.

“I took some solace in their re-emergence,” Lecter continued. “I knew it must mean that you were still alive… and near.”

The following silence communicated more than words. Will stepped closer. The doctor’s golden brown eyes searched for consolation in Will’s.

“Hannibal…” Will began.

The doctor thrilled at the sound of his name, spoken in the man’s voice.

Will didn’t complete his thought, but continued, “I saw Abigail again, in my dreams. She told me that she loved me.”

Hannibal bowed his head.

Will continued, “I don’t know if it was real, but it was good to see her again.”

“In your mind, she forgave you.”

“She loved me, despite my flaws.”

“’Despite’ implies that there is still a stumbling block to love’s existence,” Hannibal pointed out.

“Unconditional love still considers the conditions before eventually overcoming them.”

“Do you not dream of a love that doesn’t consider any conditions at all?”

“And you?” Will asked. “Do you love me; not for my darkness, but for my weakness, my reticence?”

“No one can be fully aware of another human being unless we love them. By that love, we see potential in our beloved. Through that love, we allow our beloved to see their potential. Expressing that love, our beloved’s potential comes true.”

He studied Will’s expression and added firmly, “I love you, Will; for everything.”

The young man’s brow creased when he grappled with the concept.

“Were we…?”

Hannibal responded, “There is no paradigm on Earth to compare with what we are.”

Will inhaled slowly.

“I have to deal with you and my feelings about you.”

“First you have to grieve for the part of you that was lost.”

 “I think… I can finally acknowledge that I love you as well,” Will continued.

“Despite me?”

“In spite of myself.”

“Always reticent,” Hannibal replied, affection warming his pallid face, “Essential Will Graham.”

“You robbed me of my choice to be reticent, to show compassion to those whom I would otherwise grant it,” Will told him. “If my deliberation is so essential, there must be informed consent.”

“I’ll admit to a strain of selfishness.” Lecter felt his arms ache, yearning for physical touch. “I wanted your beauty all to myself.”

“You wanted me to be as alone as you are.”

Will allowed himself a facetious smile and added, “Excepting, of course, the demons that keep me company.”

“They have breached the inner walls,” Hannibal murmured, using his glances to gesture about the room.

Will followed the man’s cues and found his monsters all around him, glowering and twitching from their odium.

“They’ve grown very strong,” Will replied.

“Join me in the light,” Hannibal insisted, reaching out for him.

Will considered the irony of the statement, but took hold of the doctor’s hand. In that moment of pure contact, Hannibal’s anxiety exhaled from his lungs, leaving behind a weakness in his spine and knees.

The young man stepped onto the platform and entered the aura, causing it to change hue from pale yellow to sky blue. His sturdy form mounted in palpable contrast to the beaten doctor. Hannibal leaned into him as if for support, but cautiously hovered just beyond touch.

Will accepted him into his clasp, gently pulling him against his chest and enfolding him in his arms. Hannibal nearly collapsed, held up only by Will’s strength.

The spirits seemed to dissolve into a mass, part vapor, part thick liquid substance quivering with coated arms, fingers, and faces. They wailed and stretched closer to the two men.

Tears warmed Hannibal’s cold skin, but Will’s eyes were steady, at peace.

“There is no place in the world for monsters,” Will whispered in his ear.

“Then there is no place for us,” Hannibal responded. “Still, if I had to live this all over again I would open the door and welcome you into my arms.”

Will pulled back enough to stare into Hannibal’s eyes. He laid his hand against the doctor’s neck and drew his lips close, nearly grazing Hannibal’s.

The doctor murmured, “I had hoped that because you returned, it meant you had changed your mind.”

“I have changed my mind on one issue,” Will told him.

Hannibal took a breath.

“I have chosen to share a grave with you,” Will continued. “Consider it a gesture of the truest love.”

Hannibal’s eyes darted over Will’s face and the young man suddenly reached out and pried the crystal shard out of the pillar. Will stepped back and threw the shard down, smashing it into pieces and killing the glowing light.

Stricken with horror, Hannibal gasped, “No.”

Will grabbed him once more and enveloped him in a tight embrace, cradling the doctor’s head against him.

“It will be beautiful,” he promised.

He clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. Shaking, Hannibal allowed himself to be held. He sucked in a breath and in a matter of seconds, the wailing screeches of the spirits rose to a crescendo and the living substance rushed toward them. It flooded around their legs like bubbling black tar, climbing over them and dragging them down.

As the mass swallowed them alive, Will didn’t let go of Hannibal, clutching him for final comfort as he threw his head back and cried out. He was immediately silenced by the vacuum of black bile. The mass rose and fell, dissolving the shapes within and then bursting into thin liquid onto the floor. Nothing was left in its place.

Brennenburg was silent. The rooms of the castle grew still, empty of life, worldly or otherwise. It seemed to release a sigh before settling into its foundation.

The world outside would eventually encroach upon the walls. Vines would creep up its parapets. Birds would build nests in the sills of broken windows. Stones would collapse as it fell into disrepair and deep within the atriums Damascus Rose would grow wild and spill over the cracks in the floors.

Nature would thrive and expand, but spirits would rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hannibal... believes in romance: the old blood-and-thunder kind of romance, before Hallmark sentiment and expensive flowers co-opted the word, the kind of romance where the lovers end up beautifully dead." -Ben Cooke.
> 
> THE END
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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